


edge

by laconicGhost



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, oh boy idk what to tag this as!! lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:31:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laconicGhost/pseuds/laconicGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shut up,” he murmurs.</p><p>“Make me,” Oikawa taunts, luring Hajime into giving in to that urge he’s trying to fight against when his lips hover infuriatingly close over Hajime’s temple but refuse to fall against it, and Hajime can feel his resolve hesitate for a moment before it crumbles. He grins, against his better judgement, as Tooru’s hands inch away from the ball and slowly envelop his own, knowing that in this battle he was doomed from the start.</p><p>He’d always choose Tooru, over and over and over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	edge

**Author's Note:**

> i was supposed to be finishing my other iwaoi fic and i ended up sinning instead oops
> 
> every tag i added just made me realize how much sinning i actually did omg
> 
> here we go tho, hope you enjoy!

Iwaizumi didn’t even know they were there -- thought they were just a part of his imagination and a memory of the feeling of Tooru’s fingers dragging down his back and leaving abstract paths down his spine -- but they were as real as the dark patches of skin along Tooru’s collarbone and down his front. He had observed the brunet that morning, wordless and gaze sleepy but unable to tear his eyes away, as Tooru’s naked form rose from the sheets and made his way over to the mirror before he gasped indignantly, spun around, and pointed to the numerous hickeys with a frustrated blush turning the soft curves of his face pink.

Hajime had just grinned lazily.

He was not smiling now.

Kindaichi had let out a little cry of surprise when Iwaizumi had pulled off his shirt, which should have been the sound that alerted him into finding out what the problem was, but he ignored it at first because the first-year was normally a bit skittish -- he assumed that whatever he was yelping about was something else that didn’t even involve him. It’s not until he can hear Hanamaki laughing that he turns around, eyebrow raised in question, to find everyone else in the club room staring at him.

“What?” He asks bluntly, ignoring the discomfort of all their eyes and gauging if it was something serious by how the rest of the team reacts to his tone. None of the underclassmen say anything to him, turning away immediately and red to the tips of their ears (save Kunimi), but Hanamaki isn’t one to back out of things because they were embarrassing. The pink-haired boy gives him a shit-eating grin, hiding half of his face with his locker door.

“Ace in the hole,” is all he says, and his cryptic answer leaves Iwaizumi even more confused than he was before when Makki says nothing more and turns back to his locker, but what he finds even more puzzling is how quiet Oikawa is next to him. When the whole rest of the team is gawking at Iwaizumi, more often than not it’s Tooru who’s caused the trouble. However, when he turns to look at the setter beside him and expecting him to be laughing along with the other third years, Oikawa’s completely silent, completely red in the face and eyes blown open wide and unfocused.

Even though it’s not the reaction that Hajime’s expecting, he still considers it completely suspicious.

“What,” he repeats, this time to the brunet, and more forceful because if Oikawa did something to him in some sort of practical joke, he swears to every deity he knows that the guy isn’t gonna live any longer than the next upcoming week. Tooru snaps out of his stare, seemingly startled by the question, but when he locks eyes with his childhood friend a fresh coat of red slides across his already flushed cheeks and he covers his hands with his face, sinking to the ground.

“I’m so sorry, Iwa-chan,” he mumbles.

Iwaizumi frowns. He doesn’t understand, but the strange behavior is enough evidence to pin whatever is wrong to Iwaizumi on Oikawa, which makes Iwaizumi’s eternal wick light. “What did you do?” He hisses, but he’s interrupted by the sound of a camera click and a phone is thrown in his face before Oikawa can answer. It’s a picture of him at his locker with his shirt off, taken the split second before, but along the clear and strong lines of his back lay long red lines trailing from the base of his neck the whole way down to his tailbone, each in even rows of five, weaving together the story of what happened last night between Seijou's captain and ace in a frenzy of heat and passion without speaking a single word.

Iwaizumi’s back starts to itch, those pink scrapes feeling all too fresh now that they’ve been brought to his attention and now that he knows they’re actually _real._

“I’m so, _so_ sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa repeats, and Iwaizumi has to tear his eyes away from the picture of himself to look back down at the brunet, who’s still on the floor, his shoulders shaking and it takes a moment before Iwaizumi realizes he’s _laughing._ Cheeks flaring and and an angry and embarrassed flush taking over and fogging up his brain, Iwaizumi’s hands jerk down to snatch Tooru by his collar and drag him up to his level.

“You did this on purpose, asshole,” Iwaizumi hisses, his voice shrill in his own ears and Oikawa flails in his hold, trying to wriggle free as he defends himself.

“No, no, I didn’t! I didn’t even see them, I promise!” He resists, but he has a huge smile on his face that shows he means anything but what he’s actually saying, and it just makes Hajime angrier. “I would have told you if I saw them this morning but I didn’t!”

“Shut up and wipe that smile off your face, Shittykawa!”

“Gross,” Matsukawa remarks. “Put a shirt on, Iwaizumi.”

Realizing that getting mad at Oikawa when he’s like this is just a waste of energy before practice, he drops Tooru and turns back to his locker and hastily puts his shirt on before slamming his locker shut. “Hurry up and get changed,” he snaps to the brunet on the floor, not even looking at him before storming from the clubroom.

Practice after that is difficult. Iwaizumi’s receives are normal but most of his spikes are out of bounds. No one brings up the incident in the locker room from earlier and there’s nothing wrong with Oikawa’s tosses, but _every_ time Hajime misses the brunet apologizes for “a bad toss” anyway and then swiftly moves on to the next portion of practice. Not to mention that Oikawa keeps fucking _staring_ at him, his gaze searing holes into his back like he’s trying to stare past his skin and into his bones, and it really starts to throw him off, but he makes it the whole way through a rather uneventful practice without completely losing his mind. After it’s over he decides to stay behind to work a little more on his serves, considering most of his work today ended in failure, and also so he doesn’t have to change in front of his teammates again.

Sure enough, they all filter out of the gym to go home, bidding Hajime goodnights and ‘see you tomorrows’ until there’s only one person left, sitting by the bleachers and stretching out his knee. Neither of them speak at first and Iwaizumi takes the time to do a couple serves, feeling satisfied when they arc over the net and stay in bounds, before the other occupant of the gym finally speaks up.

“I meant what I said before,” Oikawa says quietly. “About not knowing about the scratches.”

Hajime pulls the collar of his shirt over his face to wipe away the sweat that had gathered on his brow, quiet for a moment. “I know,” he says after a long pause. He reaches for the cart beside him and pick up another volleyball from inside and spins it in his palm. “You’re not that big of an asshole. I was just embarrassed.”

Tooru huffs a little, offended at the insult, but he says nothing more about it as he stands and crosses over to stand next to the volleyball cart. He stares at the volleyballs that are inside, his lips quirking up in a smile. “Even though I didn’t mean to make them, I’ll admit, seeing them made me happy,” he says. Iwaizumi purses his lips, but instead of angry he’s curious.

“Can I ask _why_ you think everyone seeing the evidence we had sex makes you happy, Shittykawa?” He asks, and suddenly his heart is in his throat because Oikawa is looking at him, his gaze dark and heavy and his smile turning into something that causes a shiver to go up Hajime’s spine because it reminds him of something dangerous.

“It shows that Iwa-chan is mine,” he purrs, his voice smooth and as weighted as his gaze, and now Hajime is hyper aware of the warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach, filling him up until he feels ready to overflow with selfish desire. Tooru grins cheekily at the dark brunet’s abrupt speechlessness, knowing full well what his words were doing, and Hajime has to gather himself before he speaks again so he doesn’t trip over his words.

“Keep your weird fetishes to yourself,” he mutters, looking down at the volleyball in his hands so he can avoid his partner’s sight, trying to tune out that noise in his head to keep himself calmed down. The last thing he needed to do was give Tooru any ideas: he _really_ doesn’t want to end up pressed in between a pair of lockers while Tooru goes down on him... again. It was late, Iwaizumi was tired, and he did not want the imprint of the locker door stamped into his skin for the next few days for Tooru to make fun of.

Tooru laughs at his comment and reaches out to place his hands on the ball as well. Hajime’s heart jerks when the brunet leans forward, moving right past his face and instead brushing his lips against the shell of Hajime’s ear when he speaks again. Hajime swears he can _feel_ the smile in the words. “You really have no room to talk, _Hajime_.”

The name still feels like a lightning strike coming from Tooru’s mouth, shooting Hajime through the heart and making his knees weak and leaving his palms tingling -- the real proof that he’s ass over tincups crazy in love with this stupidly amazing _wonderful_ boy and little things like first names still leave him breathless. He lets out an uneven yet quiet breath from his nose, tilting his head away the littlest bit as he tries to control his blush.

“Shut up,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t mean it. Not really. Not when the snicker that Tooru makes in response is light and gives him goosebumps when Tooru’s breath skates across the skin at the edge of his scalp and his palms start to sweat.

“Make me,” Oikawa taunts, luring Hajime into giving in to that urge he’s trying to fight against when his lips hover infuriatingly close over Hajime’s temple but refuse to fall against it, and Hajime can feel his resolve hesitate for a moment before it crumbles. He grins, against his better judgement, as Tooru’s hands inch away from the ball and slowly envelop his own, knowing that in this battle he was doomed from the start.

He’d always choose Tooru, over and over and _over_ again.

“You’re the worst,” he states, and in an instant his mouth is on Oikawa’s and the volleyball drops to the floor, rolling away from the duo as Hajime twists his hand through Tooru’s hair and pulls him closer to him. Tooru’s mouth is hot and tastes slightly like lemon from his water bottle, and even after months of being together the kiss is a intense and dizzying as it was the first time, their mouths moving in sync as Tooru’s hands roam lower, slotting their hips together so he can grind against the dark brunet. Iwaizumi growls at the friction -- they’re breathlessly close but not close enough and until Tooru’s heaving beneath him and twisting his fingers into sheets Hajime doesn’t think that desire will ever be enough.

Tooru smiles against his mouth, fingers diving under Hajime’s waistband and ghosting along the elastic of his underwear: teasing him by avoiding the bulge of his cock pressing against the front and instead feeling along the skin on his inner thigh. Hajime fights through the haze of lust to pull the brunet's head back to reveal his neck, planting open mouthed kisses along the line of his jaw and over his adam's apple. He feels triumphant when Tooru’s hands tremble and he lets out a keen moan at the attention when his teeth accidentally scrape against his throat.

He’s not left to gloat long, because it’s then that Tooru grabs his bulge and Hajime lurches forward so fast he crashes the both of them into the volleyball cart. He’s instantly reminded of where they were and he reaches for the wrist of Tooru’s hand that’s stuffed down his shorts.

“Not here,” Iwaizumi mumbles. “Back home. Gotta clean up here.”

Tooru’s chest is already contracting and expanding rapidly, but he lets out a wild laugh and pulls his hand free. “Already too inarticulate to speak clearly, Iwa-chan? I’m impressed.” Hajime grunts, lips still pressed against Tooru’s collarbone, and Tooru grins devilishly. “We could always just do it here--”

“No.” Hajime pulls away to gaze up at him. Tooru’s lips, kiss-swollen and red already, pull down into a frown and _damn_ him, Hajime feels a little bad for shooting his statement down so quickly because he looks so _cute_ this way, but he easily ignores it when he remembers how uncomfortable he was going into the clubroom for the few days after they had sex there the last time. As good as it sounds to bend Tooru over the clubroom table and fuck him until he couldn’t stand, muffling screams in the folds of his jacket -- Hajime stops himself before he gets too caught up in the fantasy and curses how badly it tested his fortitude. He clears his throat before continuing. “We can continue at home.”

Tooru rolls his eyes but pulls away anyway, reaching down to pick up the volleyball that Hajime had dropped earlier and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘no fun’. Hajime narrows his eyes and sighs, reaching down to snake his arms around the brunet’s waist and jerk him up. Tooru yelps in surprise but is effectively silenced when Hajime sucks hard at a spot behind his ear, shuddering and letting out a shaky breath before Hajime pulls away. Tooru frowns at the impulsive action, red to the tips of his ears.

“Not fair, Iwa-chan,” he croaks, and Hajime purses his lips.

“That should hold you over until we clean up,” he says, and Tooru just nods and quickly places the ball in the cart, speeding off to gather the rest of the ones that Hajime had served before as Hajime starts to take down the net. They both work quickly, putting the last of the equipment away and sweeping the floors down in record time, and soon they’re standing in the clubroom staring at each other.

“I’m showering,” Oikawa declares, and Hajime has to agree because he feels disgusting after practice and even though they were just going to get dirty again later, he needs to clean up before he gets into fresh clothes. They break apart and Tooru rushes into the shower before Hajime even has time to blink. He smiles to himself, but follows after him quickly. After taking the shortest shower of his entire life, he pulls on his fresh shirt and his jacket while he slips on his sneakers, gathering the rest of his things at his locker.

“Your place or mine?” Tooru asks, grabbing the keys to lock up the clubroom with a damp towel still over his head and reaching for his phone as he tugs up his sweatpants.

Hajime zips up his jacket. “My parents are gonna be home, what about yours?”

Tooru shakes his head. “They’re gonna visit with my sister tonight while she’s in town and take her out to dinner. They’re probably leaving soon.” He stows the clubroom keys in his pocket while he scrolls through the notifications on his phone and reaches into his locker. It’s now that Hajime is struck with the thought that the boy in front of him is exceptionally good at multitasking, watching him balance all of his tasks so easily, and again he’s washed with a sense of pride and love for Tooru that makes him flush. He feels a bit silly, but then again he’s always taken aback at everything Tooru does, so he supposes that it only makes sense.

“Iwa-chan?” Tooru pulls him back to the present. “Is my place okay?”

Hajime nods, turning back to his locker to double check that he wasn’t missing anything  before shutting the door. “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. That way we don’t have to worry about being quiet.” He looks over his shoulder. “You really suck at that.”

Tooru purses his lips, turning a little pink at the jab, but taps something out on his phone as he pulls his bag over his shoulder. “I’m a loud bottom, sue me.”

Hajime mirrors him, pulling the strap of his own bag across his chest. “You’re a loud top too,” he says, before humming. “You’re just loud in _general_ , to be honest.” He grins when Tooru’s blush deepens, lips pulling together into a hard line. “It’s not a _bad_ thing, Oikawa.”

“Ugh, whatever! Let’s just go home already!” Tooru slams his locker door and pulls on his sneakers, crossing the room and snatching Hajime’s hand as he drags him toward the exit. “Waiting this long has already gotten me too riled up to think straight.”

Hajime bites his lip to keep himself from smiling too widely, letting himself be ushered out of the clubroom so Oikawa can lock the door behind them both and return the keys to his bag, and then they take off towards Oikawa’s home. Thank God that he only lives a few blocks away, because its only a short walk before they make their way inside. They remove their shoes and, discovering no one is home, quickly scramble upstairs and into Tooru’s room before they are instantly latched onto one another, tumbling back onto Oikawa’s bed with their mouths messily pressing against one another.

“They already left,” Tooru states when Iwaizumi kneels over him, reaching up and dragging Hajime’s zipper down to expose his shirt and shoving it off his shoulders. Hajime hums a second, gazing down at the brunet whose back is pressed into the mattress: a fabulous mess of brown curls spilling across the pillow underneath his head in a blushing red wreck. He doesn’t wait long, only observing for a few moments before the lurches forward to meet mouths again, feverishly moving against one another as they struggle with their clothes: Hajime letting Tooru pull his shirt over his head and shivering when the cool air of the room meets his hot skin and Tooru drags his hands down when Hajime forces the caramel brunet’s sweats down off his hips.

Mouth continuing where he left off in the gym, Hajime rids Tooru of his shirt and keeps trailing kisses along the curve of Tooru’s cheek and down past his collarbone, softly over the skin he knew Oikawa’s jersey left revealed, but harder and with more teeth as he kept moving down along his torso. Tooru smelled nice, his skin freshly showered and soft and _warm_ , and what places he can’t mar with his teeth Hajime maps with his hands, feeling along the finely defined muscles of his stomach and over his hips, following the line of bone around to his back.

“Iwa-chan-- come on--” Oikawa whines impatiently, a wobble evident with his tone when Iwaizumi continues to leave fresh hickeys next to the old ones. “I _want_ you.”

Hajime tries not to let the words travel the whole way to his groin, where his dick is still uncomfortably packed into his underwear, and keep his head so he could do this properly. “I’m rewarding you for waiting so patiently for us to get home,” he murmurs easily, his voice rough, finally sliding down to Oikawa’s own straining length and letting his head hover over it. Oikawa falls silent, his eyes widening and his cheeks flushing again when he realizes what Hajime is actually doing, and he nods slowly.

Hajime takes a moment to pull away, relishing the sound of Tooru hissing a sharp and impatient sigh out of his nose and kissing Tooru’s right knee gently in a sort of apology. He moves in from there, leaving a line of lingering kisses up Tooru’s leg until he makes it to the elastic line of his briefs, biting at the skin of his inner thigh. He gazes up to see Tooru’s face and finds him with his bottom lip locked between his teeth, eyes glassy and pupils huge.

“Tooru.” Those eyes snap towards him. “Tell me what you want.”

Tooru blinks at him, his abused bottom lip being dug into harder with his teeth as his eyes lower a little. “I want you… to take care of me…” he trails off, looking away. Hajime raises an eyebrow. Where did all that confidence go that Tooru was strutting around earlier? He takes a deep breath, feeling his heart thrumming in his chest, and raises a hand to toy with the edge of the caramel brunet’s waistline.

“You’ve gotta be clearer than that,” he hums, pressing his cheek against the soft skin of Tooru’s inner thigh, watching his partner squirm uncomfortably because he’s so _close_ but not close enough. Tooru groans in frustration, fixing Hajime with an embarrassed glare.

“Blow me,” he snaps, and Hajime is all too eager to comply. He hooks around the waistband of Tooru’s underwear and jerks the fabric down to allow Tooru’s length its freedom, and from the relieved sigh that Tooru makes in response Hajime knows it had to have been uncomfortable being held back. He decides not to tease any further, and wraps a hand around Tooru’s cock without wasting another second, kissing the ridge on the underside beneath the head. Tooru gasps, throwing a hand over his mouth when Hajime licks up a strip from the base before taking the head in his mouth and looking up to meet the caramel brunet’s eyes.

Tooru can’t tear his eyes away, licking his lips in anticipation, and when Hajime finally pulls his head down to take in as much of Tooru’s cock as he can in his mouth, there’s another weak gasp and then a deep moan, Tooru’s fingers reaching for Hajime’s hair and burying his fingers in the coarse dark strands. Tongue working the underside and lapping up the precum at the tip, he focuses on the sounds that his partner is making and the clench of the hand in his hair to make sure Tooru was feeling good, continuing his ministrations. Pulls up for a moment, pressing down hard on the slit with his tongue and appreciating the strangled whine that Tooru makes in response, his nails scratching mercilessly at his scalp.

It’s near painful but if feels _good._

A thought comes to him and he pulls off with an obscene pop, moving away to retrieve something from the side table next to the both of them. “Wha--” Before Oikawa can begin complaining about his abrupt stop Iwaizumi finds what he’s looking for and holds up the bottle of lube and the words die in Tooru’s throat. He swallows. “Oh.”

Hajime grins crookedly, slinking back to his place between Tooru’s legs before opening the bottle. The click sounds so loud in Hajime’s ears, firing off into the near empty air where the only other audible sound is Tooru’s panting. He squeezes a bit onto his fingers, waiting until it warms up a little before lining up with the heat between Tooru’s legs and looking up expectantly as he teases him, ghosting his fingers along the rim.

“ _P-Please_ ,” Tooru all but begs, and a gasp is punched from his lungs when Hajime pushes two fingers into him up to the knuckle. He’s still a little loose from last night, as Hajime’s digits slide in easily with only a little resistance, but Tooru still arcs his back into the touch with a breathy gasp, writhing into the press of Hajime’s fingers to make them go deeper. The dark brunet places a hand on his hip to keep him down, massaging little circles into his flesh as he twists his fingers against Tooru’s walls, returning his mouth on Tooru’s cock.

An anguished noise tears from Tooru’s throat, throwing his head back against the pillow as Hajime takes him in nearly the whole way down to the base before he retreats, licking up beads of precum as he continues to spread Oikawa open with his fingers, trying to ignore how painfully hard he is himself and how Oikawa’s voice is pealing louder with each thrust of his fingers. Tooru’s cock twitches on his mouth when he adds another finger into the slick heat, the boy under him clawing at the sheets for leverage as his chest heaves.

 _Yes_ , Hajime thinks, _this_ is the side of Tooru that he was looking for.

He dips his head down and sucks hard, hollowing out his cheeks, Tooru squealing and then he’s struggling to speak, hands pawing at Iwaizumi’s face. “ _Iwa_ \-- Iwa-chan -- stop, stop _please_ \-- I’m gonna -- _ah_ \--” Hajime ignores him, curling his fingers and scissoring inside of Tooru and the caramel brunet nearly screams, chest expanding vigorously as he pleads. “Please, _please_ , no more, I want _you_ \-- _fuck -- please --_ gonna come --”

 _Thats it._   As those words slip past Tooru's lips Hajime drags his fingers out and pulls away from the shuddering boy underneath him, sitting back on his haunches. Tooru whines at the sudden emptiness, mumbling incoherently as he gasps for air and Hajime watches him for a moment, observing the pink flush over his sweat slicked skin, licking his lips before reaching in the drawer again and pulling out a foil packet. He works his sweats and underwear off quickly, tearing the packet with his teeth and rolling the condom on himself easily.

Tooru’s watching with glossy, dark eyes: gaze on Iwaizumi’s cock as the dark brunet settles himself between his legs. Hajime leans forward, meeting Tooru’s lips in a heavy kiss as the boy’s arms wrap around his neck, pushing up to press their bodies together as Hajime begins to push in.

He’s barely even in and already his mind is blanking and his breath is hitching in his throat-- Tooru’s hot and _wet_ and _tight_ and he can’t think anymore and he focuses all of his mental strength not to let his hips jerk forward and go completely inside, wanting to take it slow because even though he prepared Tooru there’s still a level of resistance and he doesn’t want to hurt the brunet underneath him. Then, Tooru’s voice, chanting hoarse words that are half incomprehensible thanks to the white noise in Hajime’s head break though as his fingers knead into his biceps _“Come on, Iwa-chan, I want you inside -- please -- I need you”_ and Hajime _cannot_ handle hearing his voice right now, afraid it’ll break his concentration, so he smashes their lips together to get him to shut up. Unfortunately Tooru just ends up mumbling into his mouth, and the vibrations from his throat cause Iwaizumi focus to break and he snaps his hips, sliding all the way in and Tooru’s composure shatters with a scream, screwing his face into the pillow beside him. Hajime panics.

“ _Fuck_ \-- _shit_ , I’m so sorry --” Hajime stutters, fumbling with words because Tooru is all around him and he can’t think straight, trying to pull away but Tooru shakes his head, a shaky smile stretching at his lips as he laughs.

“No,” he gasps, his voice a trembling and keen whine. “That’s _exactly_ what I wanted.” His nails digging into Hajime’s back, he kisses the dark brunet hotly, pressing their foreheads together as he breathes heavily. “Now _please_ \-- _please_ , move.”

The words make Hajime’s already burning skin feel like he’s boiling: Tooru’s the sun and the stars and the entire _galaxy_ and being this close to him is searing Hajime alive, but he does what he’s asked and he starts to thrust into Tooru’s tight heat after a second of collecting himself and _God_ , he knows he was achingly close to coming before he even entered the boy underneath him, but the feeling of Tooru’s slick walls combined with the sound of Tooru’s vulnerable, unrefined moans as he thrusts is only working against him, dragging him closer and closer to release.

He tries to think of something, _anything_ to keep himself from coming so prematurely, but in an instant Tooru’s moved on from saying “Iwa-chan” and instead is chanting “ _Hajime, Hajime, Hajime--”_ and the air is being punched out if his lungs and Hajime whimpers, slamming into Tooru at an excruciating pace and and that feeling is gut is so close to overflowing.

“Love you-- _a-ah,_ Hajime -- _I love you_ ,” Tooru sobs and then he lets out a wail and his body is tightening around him and whatever breath Hajime got back is forced out again as he’s surrounded by tight, white-hot heat and he’s pushing in as far as he can go before he’s coming at the same time Tooru’s spilling across his chest. His orgasm hitting him hard, he muffles his groan by biting into Tooru’s shoulder and then his body feels so _light_ for a few seconds before he crashes back down, body falling on top of Oikawa as the two of them gasp for breath.

Hajime waits for the lightheadedness to pass before he pulls out, Tooru wincing uncomfortably at the over-stimulation, and he pulls off the condom and ties it off before tossing it in the wastebasket. He smashes his face back down into Tooru’s chest when he’s finished, the brunet yelping in surprise before he starts to whine.

“ _Iwa-chan_ , you’re too heavy get _off_.”

“No,” he mumbles against his partner’s collarbone. “Too tired.”

“You’re sticky, and it’s hot and it’s gross _get off_.” Hajime doesn’t move and Tooru sighs. “At least hand me the tissues, I feel disgusting.”

As boneless as he feels, he knows that if they wait for their mess to dry it’ll be even more nauseating, so he rolls off of Tooru and onto his back, grabbing the box of tissues and pulling a few out to clean themselves up. After the tissues are thrown away, they nuzzle back down into the sheets and Hajime lets his eyes slide close, allowing his exhaustion sweep across all of his muscles as he curls up against Tooru’s chest, twining their legs together.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Tooru mumbles, but Hajime’s already halfway gone. He nudges the dark brunet’s shoulder gently, trailing his fingers down his arm when he doesn’t respond. “What about when my parents get home?”

“Wake me up before then and I’ll put some clothes on,” he complains. “I’m exhausted, let me sleep.”

Surprisingly, Oikawa just hums before snuggling down into the sheets himself. “Okay,” he sighs. “Sounds like a plan.” There’s quiet for a moment, and almost as quickly as he quiets down he’s snoring softly. Iwaizumi opens a single eye to look at him. Tooru’s hair is mussed up beyond control, curls and cowlicks sticking up _everywhere_ , lips kiss-bruised and parted gently as he sleeps. He’s even drooling already -- Hajime has to stop himself from snorting.

“So ugly,” he murmurs, reaching out a hand to brush some of his hair out his eyes. Tooru wrinkles his nose when a few strands brush irritatingly across his face in his sleep and nestles his head further into his pillow, Hajime sighing. “Goodnight, you monster.”

**Author's Note:**

> haha can any of you tell this was my first attempt at smut? i never knew writing sin would be this difficult omg, im impressed by people who do it so easily
> 
> any errors are my own and ill fix them as im made aware of them lol
> 
> thanks for reading!!


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